alea iacta est
by Juliette Chartrand
Summary: All it took was a single whisper and her world was forever changed. [In Progress, Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger]
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Hello readers! This story has been kicking around my head for three years now. A million rewrites later, I'm finally ready to post it. Let me know what you think!

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A huge thank you to **sweetasylums** for agreeing to be my beta. If you want to read something incredible, I recommend checking out her stories :).

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 **alea iacta est**

 **prologue**

The new Ministry of Magic stood proudly in the centre of magical London. After the old building had been ravaged in the civil war, the current Minister had created a masterpiece that rivaled the Ministry in Paris. It stood taller than its neighbors - beautiful and awe-inspiring - burying the memory of combat and death in the past.

A figure in black stood on the ledge waiting for a sign of life on the desolate road. He heard through the grapevine that the Snatchers had caught a prize and the delivery was tonight. He spat on the building that represented everything he hated; the New Order that had destroyed everything he held dear.

 _The vigilante_. This was the name the newspapers had given him. It was fitting, but didn't begin to cover what he planned to do. He didn't only want to punish criminals; he wanted to take down the system. It was pathetic how little the civilians saw, how safe they felt in this fucked up world. Nothing had changed in their eyes; to them, the Minister of Magic was still the person in power.

Only the elite knew that something lingered in the darkness, something – some _one_ \- more terrible than anything they had dealt with before, the ghost story you told children to make them behave. The puppeteer that pulled the strings, the one responsible for their pain and suffering. A devil who called himself the Emperor.

The Emperor was Voldemort's successor. He was powerful, but paranoid. Only two people knew his identity: Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy. They carried out his orders like good soldiers. Bellatrix was in charge of recruitment and trying to spread the Emperor's power abroad. Lucius had been elected as Minister of Magic and ran the government with an iron fist.

The Emperor's existence was only revealed to a select few. Those who discovered this secret and were not worthy of it disappeared. After three years of investigating, this was all the information he had been able to gather on the Emperor.

The clock tower tolled four times startling him out of his thoughts. He scanned the streets looking for the Snatchers. They were an hour late.

"Vestigo quaerere," he said clearly.

The anonymous source had told him the identities of the Snatchers involved after some prodding. The tracking spell had successfully found its mark. Closing his eyes, the sensation of being twisted inside out followed until his feet landed on firm ground.

A cry made him stiffen and retreat into the shadows. He scouted the area. A heavily built man and a skinny bloke were the only threats on the deserted street. They were laughing as they tied her to a tree like a dog.

"There's nowhere for you to run. Scream as loud as you want, darling. No one will save you," the thin man said.

The stocky man walked towards the pub. "Hurry up, Stines. Your barmaid is working tonight."

Booming laughter spread throughout the street as the two men opened the door and walked inside, leaving their prize unattended. Perfect. From his position, he saw ten men and a barmaid in the bar.

The prize - whispered about through the backchannels for the past few days - sat on the sidewalk, defeated. Subdued was not a word he would have ever associated with Hermione Granger. Her frizzy hair was a mess, looking more like a bird's nest than it had at Hogwarts. Her face was swollen, purple and black competing for dominance. Hermione was doubled over, her breathing rapid and shallow. He could not determine the severity of her injuries due to the dirt and grime that covered her. This image of her represented what the world had become; the darkness casting a shadow over them all.

Another boisterous laugh woke him from his thoughts and he knew that it was now or never. Making sure his hood hid his identity - it wouldn't do if they discovered who he was - he stepped into the light. Hermione seemed dazed until he ripped off her restraints. Her brown eyes looked up at him, a combination of fear and shock lurked in their depths.

"Run," he said, but she didn't move. "Run!" he shouted again as he pulled her up from the ground.

And then, with speed he didn't expect from her, Hermione Granger ran down the street and vanished into an alley. As she disappeared from view, he turned back to face the pub and kicked the door down.

He felt alive.

Chaos greeted him like an old friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Thank you to the readers who followed, favorited, and left me reviews! I am taking a risk sharing this story, so your kind words, support, and suggestions mean the world to me.

It is also my birthday today, so this chapter is my gift to you :).

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And to **sweetasylums** , I couldn't ask for a better beta. Thank you for your notes upon notes and your motivational comments!

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 **alea iacta est**

 **chapter 1**

The sound of a door slamming woke her up. She scurried to the corner of the bed, making herself as little as possible. Her heart was racing, her head was throbbing, and she couldn't remember how she ended up in this foreign bedroom. She released a deep breath when she realized the sound came from the apartment next door.

Getting up, she tried to figure out where she was and what she was doing there.

Silk pajamas adorned her body. The material, though silky and soft, felt like acid on her tender, sore skin. Unable to take agony any longer, she was on the verge of ripping off the offending clothing when the door swung open.

The pain was the least of her worries.

A beautiful woman strode into the room and paused, taking a second to look at her. Dressed in fine grey robes, she exuded an air of cool, quiet confidence. She grabbed a chair from a writing desk in the corner and sat as far from her as she could. Despite her lack of warmth, the raven-haired witch was familiar. "How did you sleep?"

"Where am I?" the girl asked. "How did I get here? Who are you?"

"My name is Pansy Parkinson. This is the apartment above my boutique. My boyfriend found you in the alley. You were badly injured. We took you in and I healed you," Pansy said, as she ran her fingers through her long raven hair. "Who are _you_ , and how did you get those injuries?"

The girl tried to answer, but couldn't. She looked down at her red hair, her pale hands, and tried to remember _something,_ but the memories kept escaping her.

"I- I don't know," the girl said and flinched when Pansy pointed her wand at her head.

A warm glow settled over her as Pansy waved her wand in various motions; a tingling spread from her head to her toes. The burning that had plagued her disappeared. A moment later, Pansy's face paled and she yelled to someone outside the room.

"What's going on?" the girl asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

Pansy ignored her and whispered to the man who had just entered the bedroom. Black, thick-framed glasses dominated his face as he peered at her. She stared back and sized him up. He was tall, but thin. He could be overpowered easily if need be.

They talked in hushed tones and occasionally glanced at her. She wondered what was being said. It was easier to focus on trying to decipher their whispers than fall into a panic over her lack of identity. Because everyone should know who they are, right? The harder she tried to think back to her family, home, friends, the more she realized that her mind was blank. Nothing was there. All she knew was this strange morning and she wondered how this could have happened to her.

Pansy left the room and returned with clothes. "Put this on. We have to go to St. Mungo's."

"St. Mungo's? A church?" the girl asked. Dismissed, the man stepped out of the room.

"No, it's a hospital. Get dressed, everything will be explained when we get there," Pansy said before leaving the room. The door snapped shut behind her.

Her eyes moved from the soft dress in her hands to the window. Should she run? But _where_ would she run? She had no name, no home, nowhere to go. Shaking those thoughts, she got dressed.

When she was ready, she waited several minutes for Pansy to come back but started panicking. What if Pansy had left her to fend for herself? It was unsettling to feel attached to this stranger, but Pansy was the only person that she knew now. She didn't want to be alone again.

Her hands trembling, she tried opening the door to find it unlocked. She slowly pulled it back and stuck her head in the hallway. No one was in the corridor waiting for her. She could hear sounds at the end of the hallway and carefully followed the voices.

The rest of the apartment matched the bedroom; everything was in its place. There were no signs that this apartment was even lived in. Scared to touch anything for fear of ruining this pristine space, she kept walking. She caught sight of Pansy and the man in an intimate conversation in front of the fireplace. They stopped talking when they noticed her arrival.

"Grab my hand," Pansy said.

She looked at the extended hand and weighed her options. Her instincts told her to trust Pansy, but her mind was questioning her loyalty to the raven-haired woman. Her brain was broken with no reliable memories or sense of identity. What did that say about her decision-making? Anyone else would be freaking out, but she was calm. Rational.

She was about to step away from Pansy when she caught sight of the setting sun through the open curtains. There was something about the growing shadows on the street that screamed danger. Goosebumps erupted on her arms and neck, fear of the outside world growing with each passing second. Wrapping her arms around herself, she took a deep breath to calm her racing heart.

Pansy had ample opportunity to hurt her, but only offered her kindness. Glancing one last time at the world outside, she made her decision and took Pansy's hand.

The raven-haired witch grabbed a handful of powder from the mantle and threw it into the fireplace. The flames turned green and, together, both women stepped through. The man – _Pansy's boyfriend? –_ stayed behind.

The smell of antiseptic cleaner and vomit overwhelmed her. She was escorted past the waiting room filled to the brim with people eager to be seen. Pansy stopped to talk to a witch with a half-shaved head behind a cluttered desk. A few hushed words later, the receptionist signaled the girl to follow her. A man with three crying children glared at her as she walked past. The woman with the odd haircut ushered her into a secluded patient room before leaving her alone.

It was a tiny room tucked away in the corner. A stretcher was the main attraction with a desk and office chair on the opposite wall. A hospital gown had been placed in the middle of the bed. She changed into it and sat down on the paper-covered stretcher. The guilt of being admitted right away and the uncertainty of the purpose of this visit mingled in her stomach. She wished that Pansy was in the room to reassure her that everything would turn out alright.

Unable to stay seated for more than a couple of minutes, she paced around the room until she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She was not a girl, but a _woman._ Deep green eyes stared back at her. Straight auburn hair framed her pale, heart-shaped face. Although her face bore no marks, it throbbed like she had been hit in the face repeatedly.

 _Who was this woman staring back at her?_

She jumped when the door swung open. A healer strode into the room, introduced himself – Healer Garrison was his name - and shook her hand. She was about to ask him why she was here when he glared at her and told her to lift her arm. Swallowing her words, she obeyed. The Healer poked and prodded at her and all she could do was watch. Blood, hair, and saliva were taken. A comprehensive body exam was done, and just when she didn't think she could take it any longer, the Healer left and she was alone again.

 _What in Merlin's name was going on?_

If someone didn't explain what was going on, she was going to run away, sue, _do something!_ The least they could do was tell her why she was here. Healers came and went. Most didn't even bother to introduce themselves. Each time one left the room, she swore she would speak up next time, tell them she had rights and that they couldn't treat her like a child. But, whenever the healers returned, she lost her courage and hated herself for it. She didn't know her name, where she was – she didn't even know what day it was. Who would take her seriously?

The clock was the only evidence that time was passing. She was aware of every second that she spent in this room. Left to her own devices after a while, she started looking around the room. Both the desk and the door were locked. She was back to square one.

Fifty-eight minutes and thirty seconds passed before the door finally opened to reveal an old man. He was dressed similarly to Healer Garrison and he hobbled into the room; took a seat in the chair. He set a folder down on the desk.

"I wanted to be the first to apologize for the treatment you have received. My name is Healer Jefferson and I will be taking over your case. Miss Parkinson told me that you're having trouble with your memory. Could you elaborate?"

The girl – _no,_ she was a woman – looked at her hands. "I don't know. I woke up in a strange place this morning not knowing who I was or why I was there."

"What is the earliest memory you have?" the Healer asked.

"Waking up this morning," she repeated, her impatience growing.

He wrote something down on a roll of parchment. "Is your memory completely blank or are there little snippets?"

"Completely blank," she answered, anxiously. "What does this mean?"

"I believe you have been obliviated. Are you familiar with obliviation?"

A shiver ran down her spine at the word, anger and fear rolling in her stomach. _Magic._ She couldn't remember her name, but she could remember transfiguration, charms, and potions. It was ingrained in her like knowing the sky was blue and the sun rises in the East only to set in the West.

A piece of parchment flew into the room and landed neatly on his desk. Healer Jefferson read over the parchment, his brow furrowing. He pushed it to the side and looked up at her.

"Now that I have your test results - including your identity - I have a better understanding of the situation."

Hearing this statement, she stopped fiddling with the hem of her hospital gown and steadied her hands.

"Five years ago, you were captured during the height of a civil war. The Ministry searched for you, but you were never found. The test results are conclusive with this theory. Your body shows signs of malnutrition and injuries consistent with torture."

"Who am I? Why would someone kidnap me?" she asked, trying to remain rational.

"You are Lady Elizabeth of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Rose. The Rose family is one of the oldest pureblood families in the world. You have strong ties to the current Minister of Magic, one of the reasons it was assumed you were taken."

Her fingers trembled. "If I was a political prisoner, wouldn't they have demanded a ransom?"

"The public was not privy to the details of your case," he said, and handed her a copy of the test results.

Healer Jefferson explained the semantics of the test results and the successful – but rare – cases of recovery from obliviation. He talked and talked. She nodded along, but her mind kept turning the same thought over and over again.

 _She wasn't the Lady Elizabeth Rose_ , of that she was sure.

But then, _who was she?_


End file.
